


What I Want For Christmas

by Anonymous



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gang boss falls in love with innocent civilian, High school Peter, Humor, M/M, Starker Secret Santa 2019, Texting, mob boss tony, mystarkersensesaretingling, starkersenses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21957655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Weathered mob boss Tony Stark does not expect to find his muse through a misdirected text. But he finds the young boy on the other side of the line every bit endearing and pretty.As he learns that Peter Parker is every bit a young hero in the making, can he keep his secret intact or will he have to risk losing Peter forever?
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 370
Collections: Anonymous





	What I Want For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Ms. Chloe (@cipherstarker) for the 2019 Starker Secret Santa. Miss, your prompts were amazing, so you might see a bit more of me in the future!  
> Happy Holidays :3

Tony Stark has only two things on his mind that fateful Tuesday night. 

One of them is that he’s meeting the Russians tomorrow morning. The other is that it’s been a while since he’s had sex. 

Tony Stark, notorious kingpin of New York, known by all those seedy and decrepit, unknown by those who remain in the light, away from the sewers and the bad news, sits patiently awaiting his second in command’s text. He’s in his Stark penthouse, gazing directly through his sunlit windows. The penthouse sits beside direct view of the ocean, on the edge of a cliff. It would be an understatement to call it large--it resides over ten acres of land--and it would be an overstatement to call it cheap in Tony’s terms. He’d handed over the money without a blink of an eye, glass of red wine in hand and a gold calligraphy pen in the other. 

He’d signed his name with a flourish and smirked as the previous owner was dragged out, paid close to nothing but a debt of half a million forgiven. It was a done deal, and that was that. 

Tony Stark sits on the small table staring out the sunset. The tiled floor is sparkling clean, set in a minimalistic pattern that he’d had a famous designer create all the way from Italy. The pattern provides a stark contrast to the mahogany coffee table, where Tony sits alone, tapping his foot against the floor. His phone sits beside him, beside his porcelain plate. 

There’s a sudden vibration, and the phone hits the corner of his plate with a tap. 

Tony sets dark eyes on the screen for a mere second. He grabs it, but he turns when he hears Happy enter. 

“Sir,” Happy says in greeting. “Good evening.”

Tony sits back on the chair, and he can’t help the snicker that leaves his lips. 

He’s been waiting to see Happy close to three hours. 

“Any updates?” Tony asks, knowing very well that if there had been something wrong, he very well would have heard about it hours ago. 

Happy is standing stiffly by the doorway, awkward in his penguin suit. 

“The Roman statue you ordered was shipped less than an hour ago,” Happy tells him, clearing his throat directly afterwards. Tony grabs his bottle of wine, unable to help the smirk on his lips. 

“Good,” he says smugly while he starts to pour an inordinate amount of wine right to the brim of his glass. He stops right at the top, where the liquid trembles for a spare second in fear before taking its place. 

“Don’t forget to place it right at the entrance,” Tony orders, unable to help himself. 

“Of course, sir,” Happy says. “There’s not one person that will be missing sight of it.”

Tony snickers one more time before he brings the wine glass to his lips. 

He’d had it stolen from one of his rivals, who’d had stolen it from an art museum in turn. He’d make damn sure that no one that didn’t know about it. 

“Is there anything else?” 

Happy shakes his head. 

“No, sir,” he assures. 

“Good,” Tony answers, taking another sip from his glass and eyeing the steak he’d had made just before his trip downstairs. It sat in front of him, waiting. 

Tony waves Happy away dismissively, and the man leaves without a word. 

Tony remembers the notification he’d received on his phone and turns his phone around to see the message. 

“Hey,” the text reads, and Tony scrunches his eyebrows. “It’s Peter.”

He almost chokes on the wine as it seems to go sour in his mouth. 

He’s pretty damn sure that he hadn’t given his number to anyone named Peter. 

He only had five people--people that he could count on one hand--who he’d willingly given his personal number to. And they were exclusively the only people that he’d resolutely handed his trust to. 

This wasn’t it. 

“How did you get this number?” Tony types, fingers flying rapidly over the keyboard. 

Three typing bubbles popped up in quick succession, barely a second after he’d sent the text. 

“Ned gave me this number,” Peter sends. 

Tony’s eyebrows furrow even deeper, a crease forming between them. Tony’s thumbs floated over the keys. 

Some other bubbles popped up before quickly being replaced by another reply. 

Tony’s eyebrows arched in surprise. 

“Did you know that a cloud can weigh more than a million pounds?”

Tony stares at the text, not typing one word as he sees more bubbles popping up in quick succession. 

By now, he’d figured out what was the issue here. And it wasn’t that somebody had betrayed his trust or hacked his phone. 

“About 1.1 million pounds, actually,” Peter sends. “A single cloud.”

Tony lifts his phone, making up his mind. He’s going to type. He’s not sure what at that point, but he isn’t allowed too much time to ponder on a decent response. 

“If you calculate the water density and multiply it by its volume that’s what you get,” is the text that is sent by the so-called Peter. 

“But it can still float at that weight because the air below it is even heavier,” Peter sends directly afterwards. 

“Just in case you were wondering,” is the last thing he sends. 

Tony had figured out almost immediately that this was an error, and error is not something that Tony is usually greeted with. Especially recently. 

But this was a real nice treat. 

“I wasn’t wondering,” Tony finally sends after a long moment of silence. “But thank you for the random, unneeded trivia.”

The person on the other side of the conversation is undeterred. 

“On the contrary,” says the ball of spunk, “How can we go along in life not knowing this very important part of life and science?”

Tony stares down at his Stark phone and very much squints at the screen. 

“You have the wrong number,” he finally types down after about five minutes of staring. 

“This isn’t MJ?” the person asks. 

“No,” Stark sends. 

He pauses for a moment, unable to help himself. As he usually does. 

“Is there really someone that would find any of your trivia vaguely funny or interesting?”

Tony smirks down at the phone when no response comes back for a while. 

The cream plate sparkles ivory underneath the golden lights above Tony’s head, and he lifts his knife and fork, placing his phone beside him once again. He only manages to place a miniature cut on his medium rare wagyu beef before he’s interrupted. 

“Rude,” Tony’s phone vibrates. 

Tony raises a dark, thick brow, large eyes focused on the small screen beside him as it glows valiantly with subsequent texts. 

“There’s a McDonalds in every country but Antartica,” he reads. 

Then. 

“Frostnip is what you call the stage before frostbite.”

And then. 

“A duel between three people is a truel.”

Finally. 

“You can report spies in South Korea if you call 113.”

Tony puts down his utensils, wiping his hands haphazardly on his napkin before placing it beside his plate. 

“This isn’t how flirting works,” he sends. 

He keeps his phone in his hands and sees the bubbles pop in and out. 

“I’m not flirting,” the new text reads. 

“Your desperate attempts to impress say the contrary,” Tony retorts. 

“That sounds like the opinion of someone who is either used to fighting or flirting or both at the same time,” the person on the other side of the line comments. 

Both of Tony’s eyebrows are raised, his skin stretched enough that he wouldn’t be surprised if they disappeared behind his fringe. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Tony snarks back, and the phone pings with another text, this one from Pepper. Tony dismisses it, waiting for Peter’s reply. 

His phone pings again, and he notices Pepper asking him if he’d eaten yet. Tony glances down at his uneaten food. 

He pulls down the notification and types out a no. 

He quickly moves back to open the text conversation for the unknown number’s response. 

“Flirting was the first thing you thought to mention,” Peter says. 

“So I’m betting my money on you being the flirt.”

There is a small pause. 

“You know,” Tony reads. “That thing with Freud… Projection?”

“I’m not the one trying to flirt by giving useless facts,” Tony sends back quickly. 

Tony puts his phone down in an attempt to eat his food again, but his eyes keep flitting back to the phone beside him. Innocuous yet now full of possibilities. 

Tony picks it up quickly when it pings, only to see that it’s Pepper. 

“No to the food or no to the Russians?” she asks. 

Tony opens the message to view the conversation fully. 

“No to the food. Yes to the Russians,” he sends after prompt consideration.

After still not seeing a response from Peter, he puts down the phone resolutely. Considering himself the victor, he eats the rest of his meal in peace. 

It isn’t until he’s in bed, an hour after his meal and a half hour after getting ready to go to sleep, his phone pings one more time by his drawer. 

Tony frowns, scooting over the edge of the bed to snatch his phone and open up the screen. 

“Sounds like something an intergluteal cleft would say,” the text reads. 

Tony Stark, feared mob boss and even more notorious weapons dealer, stares down at the phone in his hands in intrigue, his mouth agape. His eyebrows now for sure disappearing behind his fringe. 

He goes to sleep thinking about the person behind those juvenile message, very resolutely trying not to think about the fact that he’d very bluntly called him a butt crack. 

X

Peter is still a thought in his head the next morning, and an annoyed Tony calls a frazzled Nick Fury at five in the morning. 

“I need you to look into someone for me,” Tony says as soon as he answers. 

“Well, good morning to you, too,” Fury growls on the other side of the line. 

“I can give you a number,” Tony says nonchalantly, as if he’d never said anything at all. 

“Actually,” Tony brings up, sitting up straight on the leather back seat of his car, just as Happy revs the engine of his brand new car. “I’ll just go ahead and send it to you.”

“Who is it?” Nick asks, the sleepiness fading from his voice and replaced by a sharp alertness. 

“It’s not anyone important,” Tony answers, waving a hand in the air as if dispersing smoke. Happy eyes him curiously through the driving mirror. 

Nick Fury groans. 

“Then what the fuck is the point?” he asks. 

“You can take your time with it,” Tony responds flippantly. “It’s just for curiosity’s sake.”

“Stark, I’m not here to sate your curiosities--”

Tony grimaces, rolling his eyes before hanging up the call. 

“Are we still headed to the port, sir?” Happy asks him, looking at him through the mirror before looking back at the road. 

“My plans haven’t changed,” Tony states. He stares out the window. “I’ll let you know if they do.”

He thinks about it for a few more seconds. 

“Though anything less than murder is unlikely to change my plans anyway,” he states nonchalantly. 

The entire drive is silent. A pin would have fallen, and they’d both have heard it. 

They arrive just when there is a faint orange glow on the docks. Blue lines obscured by the large redness of the sun appearing in the distance. 

Happy stops the car just by the shipping containers. 

“We’re here, sir,” Happy informs.

“I can tell,” Tony says just before he rolls his eyes. He peers out of the window through the top of his tinted sunglasses. 

“Are the boys all situated?” Tony asks, all business as he adjusts the sleeves of his black suit. 

“Yes, sir,” Happy responds. 

“Okay,” Tony sighs right before opening the door himself. “Let’s go talk to these damn Russians.”

X

“I got the name and an address,” Fury tells him once he’s safely situated back home. 

“Oh?” Tony piques, staring into the mirror and wiping down the droplets of blood on his cheek with a white towel. 

“What did a high schooler do to earn the attention of a maniac like you?” Fury asks, though it sounds more sarcastic than curious. 

Tony straightens up and stares at his reflection in the mirror. 

“High schooler?” Tony asks. 

“He’s a 17 year old,” Fury tells him. “And, according to my records, a very involved member of the science and mathematics club at his high school.”

“Oh,” Tony responds in surprise. “The age makes sense.”

“The age makes what make sense again?” Fury asks. 

“The cheekiness,” Tony states, as if it were obvious. 

Tony can almost hear Fury rolling his eyes on the other side of the line. 

“Just don’t go out there breaking the law with a seventeen year old kid,” Fury tells him. “I don’t want to know I played a part in that.”

Tony huffs. 

“That’s not something I’m worried about,” Tony informs. “Like I said, it was curiosity for curiosity’s sake.”

“Well, good luck to you. I’ve sent the address and a picture by text.”

Fury hangs up, and Tony opens the message he’d received. 

A few seconds later, Tony is dropping his towel over the sink and undressing, pinging Happy just right before he steps into the shower. 

“Change of plans, Hap,” Tony says. “Get the car ready.”

Tony Stark, once again, sits on the back seat of his car about twenty minutes later, just a few minutes past 2:45 PM with a surprised Happy sitting on the driver’s seat. 

“I understood that you wouldn’t be having any more appointments today after what happened in the morning,” Happy points out curiously as the car rolls down the trafficked streets of New York. 

Tony purses his lips and rests his head on the seat behind him, squinting dark eyes at Happy’s back. 

“I can’t have you being too curious, Hap,” he responds. Tony tilts his head to look at him through his red-tinted sunglasses. “Do you get my gist?”

“Yes, sir,” Happy says in turn, staring resolutely through the front glass, into the distance of the cars. 

“Park somewhere in clear view of the front doors,” Tony orders once they’ve reached the large high school. Happy parks resolutely beside the curb, away from direct view of the school offices but in direct view of the doors. 

Tony takes off his seatbelt and uncrosses his legs to show Happy the picture Fury sent him. 

“I’m looking for this kid,” Tony gives in, knowing that there will be a multitude of kids running out of those doors. He allows Happy to view the picture for a few seconds. Long enough that he has the image imprinted in his head. Tony trusts Happy’s force and security background enough to know that he doesn’t need longer than that to search for a target. 

Tony leans back into his leather seat, assured of Happy’s knowledge. He crosses his legs again, placing the cell phone beside him as he rolls up the sleeves of his suit. 

He stares at the face of his watch, humming under his breath as he notices the time. 

“Give it a few minutes,” Tony orders, knowing that Happy is anxious to know what they’re doing. “We need to keep our eyes out for a bright-eyed kid that is clearly wet behind the ears.”

There is a silence between them that is only emphasized by the sound of Tony tapping his feet on the ground. 

Tony is hyper aware of the constant looks he’s receiving through the mirror. 

“What is it?” He finally asks, annoyed and looking over the top of his sunglasses at the mirror. 

“Is that… you know…” Happy clears his throat and then grimaces before continuing. “Your son?” he ends meekly. 

“Happy,” Tony Stark says, deadpan, as he looks into the eyes of his driver through the mirror connecting their eyesight. “Do you want to get fired? Because I can definitely make that happen.”

Happy grimaces. 

“No, sir,” he says, looking back at the school, just in time to hear the bells ring and a shit ton of kids walk out at the same time. 

Tony knows that his eyes are only searching out of interest at first, to see if he can pinpoint a familiar face, but when he does, the excitement that holds him is so surprising that it almost chokes him. 

Tony can’t help the excitement in his voice as he points. 

“That’s him, Happy,” he informs. 

He clears his throat to suppress the emotions that attack him. He’s confused by them, and he forces them down, burying them in the back of his throat. 

Peter Parker is every bit of the pictures but so much better. He’s lanky in the way that teenagers are, but he’s also every bit as slim and sharp-jawed and pretty. With thin lips and a curvy nose. Large brown eyes and brown hair that looks like honey when the sunlight hits it directly. 

He’s wearing black jeans and a blue t-shirt with the words “Don’t be so NaCl,” a blue plaid shirt over it. 

The first image that Tony Stark ever has of him is of him smiling, teeth showing as his eyes crinkle at the edges. He’s beside a chubby boy with black hair, holding the top of the straps of his backpack. 

Tony stares, physically unable to look away. 

“What do you want me to do?” Happy asks. 

“What I want us to do is some light, harmless stalking,” Tony responds in turn. He leans back into the seat, putting on his seatbelt again. He tilts his head as he sees Peter hug his friend goodbye. 

He stares when Peter waves him away and walks across the parking lot until he’s at the corner of the street. 

Peter reaches it just as the crosswalk light is changing from yellow to red, but, just as quickly as Tony had decided to lean back, he’s just as suddenly straightening up in his seat. He’s grabbing the back of Happy’s seat as Peter ignores the lights and runs across the street. Cars beep in turn, and Peter reaches the other side just as a car speeds past, regardless of speed signs. 

Happy is just as winded as Tony is as they watch the nonchalant boy disappear past a fence beside some bushes. 

A loose strand of hair falls over Tony’s eyes. 

“Did I almost see that kid almost get run over by a car?” Tony asks faintly. 

Happy clears his throat, and Tony takes it as the affirmation that it is. 

“I’m pretty sure that I almost saw that kid about to get run over by a car,” Tony emphasizes. “And it looks like he couldn’t give less of a damn.”

“That was really reckless of him, sir,” Happy agrees. 

“That’s exactly it,” Tony says, his eyes wide behind his sunglasses. “I’ve never heard a word more fitting.”

“Do you still want me to follow him?”

“Yes,” Tony says, head a little light. “Even more now that I know that he can’t take care of himself.” 

He leans back into his seat, rubbing his hands over his eyes. 

“Go and follow the little minx.”

Happy reacts promptly, following behind at a safe distance. He’s close enough that Tony can distinguish the boy’s curly tufts of hair, haphazardly blowing in the wind. His nose scurnces at the cold wind hitting his face. 

“There was definitely a traffic light back there, wasn’t there?” Tony asks. He already knows the answer, but his mind can’t seem to grasp the idea that there is someone in the world that is that careless with their own safety. 

“Yes, sir,” Happy answers, just as intrigued. 

Tony closes his mouth, content enough to watch their unaware target walking down the road, cars passing him in ignorance. 

Tony gets a little tired of this after fifteen minutes, and they’re already in the main part of the city again, back into narrow streets and trafficked cars. 

Their pace is extremely slow, but Tony doesn’t want to startle the young boy, much less tip him off to his presence.

“How much does this guy walk per day?” Tony can’t help asking. It’s no wonder the teenager has the build of a slim athlete. Happy replies, but the words fly past him without being registered. 

Tony’s eyes begin to droop, and, even though he’s wearing his sunglasses, he’s pretty sure that he’s not fooling Happy. 

His suspicions are assured when Happy asks him if he’d like their mini exploration trip and head back home. 

Just as he’s about to say yes, he’s distracted by Happy sudden stop by the curb. 

“Sir, I think that there’s an incident,” Happy says, voice confused. 

Tony’s eyebrows furrow. 

“What incident?” He asks, starting at the back of Happy’s head. 

And then Happy is raising a thick finger to point in front of them. 

Peter had entered an alleyway, and now he’s in the process of tearing away a purse from the hands of a man who had clearly just stolen it, if the frantic woman beside them is any indication. 

“How--” Tony asks, so in shock that a second of distraction had almost made him miss this mess. 

The purse flies away from both of their holds, and the lady runs towards it, grabbing it as her wallet slips out. She snatches it from the ground and has a cell phone to her ear almost as soon as she’s running away from the incident behind her. 

“Excuse me, lady,” Tony can’t help but to complain as she passes by right in front of them without taking one look at their car. 

His eyes turn back to the scuffle, and both Tony and Happy gasp when the hoodlum is suddenly holding a knife in his hands. 

Tony’s hand is quickly at his waist, where he hides his gun underneath his waistcoat, right over the loop of his black belt. The other hand is on the handle of the door, one second away from running out. 

But he quickly learns that his worry is unneeded as Peter’s foot hits the palm of the man’s hand, the knife flying in the air in an arc. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Tony says, smoothly taking off his sunglasses as he stares throught he tinted windows of his car. 

“This kid is a fucking magnet for trouble.”

They’re not the only ones that are surprised, if the wide-eyed look on the other man’s face is anything to go by. 

Tony can’t help but stare with begrudging awe, his mouth slightly parted as Peter kicks the hoodlum with a whole foot on the balls before running away, feet kicking off dirt from the cement in visible gray puffs. 

“Call Clint,” Tony says to Happy once he’d seen Peter cover quite the distance. The hoodlum writhes in pain on the floor, his hand on his groin, clearly clutching his broken balls with both hands. 

“We’re going to need to talk.”

X

“That boy is a hazard to himself and to society,” Tony states resolutely to an uninterested Pepper Potts. 

Pepper Potts, the closest thing to a confidante and every bit the elegant secretary she appears to be, who is too above rolling her eyes at this significant point in time, stares at Tony with such a deadpan expression that he can’t help but to pause in his pacing. 

“And you thought that it was a great idea to bring Clint back--a man so important that he should be guarding ambassadors and presidents--down to babysit a kid?”

“It’s a good investment of my money and resources,” Tony says. He nonchalantly pours himself a glass of wine, aware of the look that Pepper is throwing at his back. 

“You should be using those resources to protect yourself. Not someone else,” Pepper scolds. “You do know that things are not going to be this easy, right? Especially after the Russians hear about what you did to their second in command.”

Tony raises his eyebrows and takes a seat on the leather swivel chair behind his mahogany desk. 

He rests his arms on the legs of the chair and throws Pepper a look. 

She lets out an exasperated sigh, rubbing at her eyes. 

“I’m the one that should be looking at you like that, Anthony Stark,” she bites back. “I hope to God that you know what you’re doing.”

Pepper makes to turn towards the door, her notepad swinging in tandem to the loud clacking of her high heels. 

“There’s no need to call the big man into this,” Tony calls back, watching as she opens the door and turns back to literally rolls her eyes. 

Tony leans back in his chair, throwing her an exaggeratedly affronted look, lips parted in a scandalized gasp. 

“Fix this, Anthony,” she orders, pointing at him with the notepad in hand. “Or I swear I’ll force you to.”

With those words, she slams the door shut, and Tony grimaces. 

He shrugs and smooths down the front of the lapels on his gray suit. 

“I don’t see anything that needs fixing,” he says out loud. He looks at the Roman statue he’d snatched from under his rival’s uptight ass. It had been forcibly moved over to his office after Pepper had taken one look at it at the front door. “Do you?” he asks, tilting his face to look at the statue. 

Tony stares at it for a little longer before slipping his phone out of his pocket. He opens his messaging app and finds the messages he’d been searching for. He’s updated Peter’s contact name to “Danger Flirt” and a heart emoji. Tony’s lips purse, and he squints his eyes down at the screen, tapping on it before he can stop himself. 

“Did you get the number of the person you were trying to reach?” Tony types in curiosity. 

Tony taps the off button of his phone quickly, putting his phone down on the table before tapping the top of the desk impatiently. 

His phone pings, and Tony leans forward to see the message.

“Yeah,” Peter sent. 

Tony waits a few seconds longer, leaning down to rest his chin on his fist. 

“Did she react well to your cloud message?” Tony sends when Peter doesn’t type any more. 

He backtracks when he wonders if maybe Peter wasn’t trying to get the number of a woman. 

“Guy or gal or whatever. I don’t judge.” Is the text that is sent. 

There is a pause, and then Tony sees a bubble pop up and fade. It pops up again, and Tony releases some tense air from between clenched teeth. 

“She said it was cool,” the text reads.

“Unlike some people,” appears a few seconds later. 

Tony releases a scoff, shaking his head and unable to to help the smile on his face. 

“If you want a girl’s number, you ask her directly. Not her friend,” Tony says in return. 

“You sound like an old man,” is what the next text from Peter reads. 

“That’s close enough,” Tony sends back, not wanting to lie. 

“Welcome to the new age, Dracula,” Peter snarks back, and Tony scoffs in intrigue. 

“Do you get off on calling people butt cracks?” Tony asks before he can help himself. 

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for Peter to answer. 

“I thought that you hadn’t caught up on that, to be completely honest,” Peter admits. 

“What part?” Tony asks, smirk prominent as he types. He must look like a lunatic if anybody that he knows opens the door and sees him staring at his phone like a creep. The thought comes unbidden for a second before sends the next text, burying it in the back of his head. 

“The jerking off part or the butt crack part?” Tony sends. 

“Haha,” says Peter. “Hilarious.”

“Do you usually tell off anyone that dares to question your ways?” Tony asks, rolling his shoulders back as he leans into his chair. 

“Just the ones that are rude to me,” Peter states matter-of-factly. 

“I’m a nice person most of the time, I promise,” is sent like an afterthought. 

Tony tilts his head and brings his phone to his lap. He smiles, staring at the words trapped in their blue bubble. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting your alone time, but we’ve gotta talk,” someone says as they open the door to his office. 

Tony looks up quickly, and he turns off the screen of his phone, eyes wide. His ears redden as his neck grows hot. 

Rhodey stops in his steps, starting as the door behind him closes shut, unbidden.

“I really hope that this isn’t what I think it is,” Rhodey says after a small moment of silence. 

“What do you think this is?” Are the words that come out rapidly from Tony’s mouth. 

“Are you jerking off under that desk?” Rhodes asks, pointing at him and placing a hand on his waist. 

“No,” Tony says, lifting his hands and placing his phone on the desk. 

Rhodey’s lips part slowly, and his nose wrinkles. 

“Ew,” is all he says. 

“I said I wasn’t,” Tony argues. 

“Then why are you looking so guilty?” Rhodey asks him, slowly approaching him to stand behind one of the brown leather sofas in front of Tony’s desk. 

“I was looking at my phone,” Tony tells him. 

“Looking at what?” Rhodes squints at him. 

“I was texting,” Tony tells him, hands sweaty. He rubs them on the top of his gray slacks. 

“Sure,” Rhodes says skeptically, nodding slowly and still squinting at him. “You don’t even text me, and now you’re texting like you’re in your twenties?”

“Excuse you,” Tony says, straightening up and leaning towards his desk. “Texting isn’t just for young people.”

“That’s what I said when I tried to convince you of the new age,” Rhodey emphasizes. “What magically changed your mind?”

Tony waves him off, shaking his head. 

“Never mind that,” he says, changing the subject. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Oh,” Rhodes says, remembering what he’d come for. He comfortably takes a seat. He crosses his legs and rests his hands over his knee. “I heard that you’re bringing Clint down?”

Tony raises an eyebrow. 

“News travels fast then,” he notices. 

Tony purses his lips and squints at him, nodding in response. 

“I thought that you’d finally listened to me about bringing him in for protection, but I heard that you’re moving him to guard some kid?” Rhodey asks in confusion, some indignation clouding his words. 

“I can protect myself,” Tony states, locking his fingers together in front of him and sitting up straight. 

“That’s not the point, and you know it, Tony,” Rhodey tells him in his agitation. “I know that you’re the sickest and strongest motherfucker out there, but this is how the biggest go down. Overconfidence.”  
Rhodey sighs and rests his hand on his cheek for a spare moment before shaking his head. 

“You can spare me your worries, Rhodes,” Tony says, clearing his throat. 

He stares at Rhodey’s face and hears a ping go off on his phone. He forces himself to not tear his eyes away from who is in front of him at the moment. 

Even when Rhodey’s eyes slide over to the phone, eyes narrowing at the screen that has now gone dark. 

“Is this dude your kid?” Rhodey finally asks. 

“No, Rhodes. Shut the fuck up, please,” Tony sighs, letting his weight fall back on the chair.

“Then what is it?” Rhodey asks, and it’s sensible. It’s what Tony has been asking himself for the past few days. Ever since he’d since the kid kick a grown man in the balls and run so fast he could have been part of a national marathon. 

“I don’t know,” Tony admits, and he doesn’t need to say anything else. When he looks up to meet Rhodey’s eyes, he sees all the understanding he needs. 

“You do know that Clint comes with a package?” Rhodey asks. 

“I’m counting on that,” Tony states, shooting him a look. 

“A very Russian package,” Rhodey reiterates. 

“Don’t judge the poor woman by her country,” Tony says, smiling. A spark brightens his eyes. “The poor woman can’t help it.”

Rhodey releases another sigh in exasperation. 

“Fine, asshole, I get it. Forgive me for caring about your old ass.”

“Your ass is as old as mine,” Tony shoots back. “If only a few birth marks younger.”

Rhodey rolls his eyes. 

On top of his very fancy desk, Tony’s phone pings again. 

This time, Tony’s eyes subconsciously trace the lines of text that appear on the screen. 

“Busy doing grown-up things?” the message prompts curiously. 

“That your boy?” Rhodey asks, pointing to the phone. 

Tony’s heart unwillingly skips a beat at the phrasing of the words. 

Tony purses his lips again and nods slowly but doesn’t reply, looking back at Rhodey.

“I believe you now, if it makes a difference,” Rhodey chuckles, smiling mischievously. 

Tony coughs, cheeks reddening. 

“You just love to jump to conclusions,” Tony tells him. 

“You were staring at your crotch. Don’t blame me for assuming,” Rhodey teases, shrugging his shoulders upwards. That darned smile is still on his face, and Tony’s cheeks redden a little more. 

Tony, again, changes the subject. 

“Was Pepper the one that sent you?”

“Yeah,” Rhodey replies, and that smile is small but fond on his face. 

Pepper is his second in command, but Rhodey follows not far behind. If anything happened to him, they are the only two people that Tony deems competent enough to continue expanding the empire he’s built. 

There are also the only people in his world that he trusts with his life. But he’d never really told them. He also hadn’t felt like that would be something he’d be mentioning any moment soon. 

“Well, I assume that you knew that I wouldn’t have much to say,” Tony notes, tapping the top of his chair arm softly. 

“Yeah, I assumed, but I didn’t think it’d be a waste to try,” Rhodey says before he lifts himself up from his seat. “I’ll tell her that I tried, at least.”

Tony’s face is exaggeratedly serious as Rhodey looks back at him. 

“Also, I’ve been wanting to ask, but what the fuck is that?” Rhodey asks, pointing to the large naked statue beside Tony’s desk. 

“That was a really expensive mistake, as Pepper likes to put it,” Tony snickers, grabbing his black pen from within his coat pocket to tap it on his desk. “I personally like to call it distinguished retribution.”

“I’m likely to go with Pepper on this one, Tony,” Rhodey laughs, smoothing down the lapels of his dark blue suit before he buttons it up.

“You usually do,” Tony says, unbuttoning the middle buttons of his suit in response. 

X

Every morning, Clint sends him a text with updates on Peter’s daily occurrences. 

Now Tony knows that Peter is not only a fact geek, he’s easily the most intelligent kid in his high school. He also lives alone with his aunt and his uncle. They live in a modest, small apartment just outside of downtown New York. 

It’s also through Clint Barton that he learns that Peter is every bit the horny piece of shit he hadn’t assumed he’d be. 

He really wishes he didn’t know that piece of information, and now it plagues him constantly. 

“You told me that you wanted detailed reports, sir,” Clint tells him the first time. Tony’s eyes went wide at the pictures he’d taken. He holds the manila envelope in stiff hands.

“I didn’t want them that detailed, Barton,” Tony says even though his mouth has gone dry. 

Natasha Romanov smirks and pops bubble gum in between her teeth. 

He’s never hated and loved a couple of people so much in his life. 

“You weren’t kidding when you said that kid is a magnet for trouble,” Clint tells him. “I’ve had to intervene is some really creative ways to remain invisible.”  
“This kid loves to be a hero,” Natasha tells Tony nonchalantly. “It’s no wonder that you’re worried.”

“He’s either really stupid or recklessly brave,” Clint continues, and Tony’s eyes flit back to him. 

“His aunt and uncle don’t seem to know about his proclivities,” Tony states, although it’s more of a question than a statement. 

“They seem to have an indication, but we can’t be too sure,” Natasha replies in turn. “The bruises have to be an indicator after a while.”

Tony hums in response. 

Clint and Natasha leave after their debrief. 

The first time he’d seen them together, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how well they melded together. Like two pieces that could read each other’s thoughts before they were spoken. One red-haired with curly hair, striking red-poison lips, and one shorter with blonde hair and brown eyes. 

Beside each other, they were like disjointed puzzle pieces, but, when they spoke, they spoke as if connected. 

Tony wonders if Peter and him are similar. 

Tony places the manila envelope with the pictures on the drawer beside his bed. Hidden safely beneath some Time magazines.

Tony sleeps well, even if he knows what Peter Parker looks like naked. 

Maybe especially so. 

“Unwarranted fact of the day?” Tony sends in the morning, right as he’s eating breakfast. Syrupy pancakes with a honey glaze.

“Warranted, if I’m reading this correctly,” is the response Peter sends. 

Tony rolls his eyes and smiles as he takes a bite of his pancakes. After he’s chewed, his lips are sticky. 

“I have one for you,” Tony types. Tony clicks twice on his home screen and opens his app to Google, where he’d had a tab open to “The 75 Most Amazing Facts of the World.”

He quickly highlights the one fact he’d chosen and copies it to send to Peter. 

Peter sends little exclamation points in response after he reads it. 

“I didn’t even know that Canada had prisoners of war,” Tony reads, and his smile is fond as Peter continues to type. “But now that I think about it, it makes sense that, even if they did, the poor men wouldn’t want to leave. I wouldn’t want to leave either, now that I’m thinking about it.”

“Have you ever been?” Tony asks him curiously. He’s highly aware of the uneven ground they stand on by default of resources, that he’s cheating in this game of knowing each other, but he can’t help himself. He wants to hear it from Peter. 

“Yeah,” Peter tells him. “It wasn’t for too long, though. I can barely remember it, but it was while my parents were still alive.”

Tony hums. He takes another bite of his pancakes before he types out a response.

“Have your aunt and uncle never taken you again?” Tony asks, because he knows that he can. Even though he knows that he shouldn’t.

Peter takes a while to reply, and, by the time he does, Tony has put his plate over the sink and washed it. He’s now setting it down to dry on one of the white racks he has underneath his cabinets. 

“No,” Peter admits. “Expenses are always tight.”

Tony turns away from the phone for a few seconds to tap on the black marble counter with an index finger. 

By the time he knows it, he’s already turning around to type away at the screen. 

“I can arrange for a trip,” Tony says. “For you and your aunt and uncle.”

There's silence on the other side of the line for a while, and Tony leans back on the counter. He's a little impatient, and he taps his palm on the counter again before he's pushing away from it and walking towards his office. He sits on the leather chair and adjusts a few loose papers that he's had to the side for a while, straightening them. It doesn't help. 

His phone vibrates in his palm, and Tony quickly takes a look at it. 

"Hey, Tony," the text from Peter reads, and Tony perks up, straightening up his hunched shoulders. "I've been wanting to ask you something for a while now."

For some reason, those words make a wary spark run up his spine, and Tony squints down at the screen. 

Tony doesn't type, waiting for Peter to come out and ask his question. 

It takes Peter awhile, and Tony can tell that he's rewriting because those familiar ellipses pop out in their gray bubble.

Tony's back is still, stiff, when he leans back into his chair, and he coughs to clear his throat. He clears his throat a few more times and furrows his brows. 

Finally, when the text comes, it's a little long. 

"I realized that the only thing that I really know about you is your name," the first part reads. "I've shared a lot about my life, but I want to know more about yours. What do you do for a living? How old are you? Do you like watching movies?"

The room that Tony is in is almost dark. The lights on the lamp on the desk are dim. Most of the light that illuminates the room comes from the half-open curtains of the windows behind him. 

"You can take your time," Peter says after the long pause. 

Tony shuts off the screen of his phone. He's staring at the door. It has a dragon engraved in a circular design right in the middle. He'd had it imported from Japan directly, and parts of the door shine a honey brown. The handle shines like gold. When the sun goes up just right, it illuminates on it like a mischievous wink. Like a small hello. 

In this large room, by himself, as Tony stares at a door that cost half a million dollars, a Roman statue snatched from right under the nose of his largest rival (as it was being transported from Greece to Milan), he finds himself in a dilemma. 

Because how can Tony Stark, notorious mob boss and leader feared from beyond borders, rich beyond compare, admit to goody-two-shoes-Peter that he's one of the people that Peter loves to defend others from?

So he gives his part truths. His "I'm younger than mid-age," and "I'm a businessman."

These are followed by a very unimpressed emoji face. 

"What type of businessman?" Peter asks him, and Tony grimaces. 

"Financial business for profit," Tony sends, and, as soon as he does, he knows that Peter doesn't buy it. Not entirely. 

"What's the name of your company?" Peter asks him. 

Tony knows that if he says Stark enterprises, he's dead. He's sure of it.

"Unless it's not your company and you're just an employee. It's the same to me," Peter continues. 

"It's not mine," Tony lies. 

"Okay," Peter says after a few seconds of wait. "Keep your secrets then."

There's a pause. 

"Unless you're from a porn company. I'd really like to know about that. I'd have so many questions."

"There'd be nothing wrong with it even if I did," Tony replies. 

"But that's not the point," Peter says, and he's so sharp. The way he reads him. "But you're ashamed of it. Either ashamed of it or scared that I might not like to hear what you have to say."

Tony doesn't respond. He only stares at the screen in front of him, words so bright they are starting to blur in front of Tony's eyes. 

"There's a man," Peter tells him. Tony blinks when the message appears on his phone. "A man that I owe my life to. That I owe my uncle's life to."

Peter's typing, and that darned bubble is there again, but this time it's consistent. 

"There was a chase," Peter tells him. "The sound of gunshots, but me and my uncle were just coming out of a gas station and we had no idea what the sounds were. We thought they were tires popping."

"It was so loud," Peter continues. 

For some reason, an ache settles in Tony’s chest. 

And Tony knows. He's stiff in his chair. He knows the sound of gunshots. He's heard them hundreds of times. Sometimes they don't all sound the same. It depends on their proximity. And how close you are when they hit a person right on target. 

"My uncle pushed me away right when he noticed," Peter tells him. "So he was the one right in the middle of it. One of the guys pulled him in and held a knife right to his throat."

Tony can see that image right in front of him. The two men, Peter cowering in fear behind a garbage bin. 

"The guy held a knife to my uncle's throat," Tony reads. "Across from him, there was a man pointing a gun at them.

“The man holding the gun saw me,” Peter said. “He saw me cowering behind the bin and he stared. And then he smiled at me.

“The man holding the knife to my uncle’s throat said a few words, but I couldn’t hear them. I could only look at the man that held both of their lives in his hands.”

Tony wants to ask if the man holding the gun said anything, and, if so, what he did, but he already knows. 

He knows because he'd been there.

"'I'm not the one holding a knife to the old man's throat,' the man said. And then he'd shot him. He shot the man threatening my uncle’s life."

Peter pauses in his telling. 

"He hit him point-black," Peter tells him. "Right between his eyes. Two inches away from my uncle's head."

Tony doesn't say a word. He's too frozen to do so. 

“So the whole point of this is,” Peter said, “that I don’t care what you do. I just want you to trust me. Just like I trusted that man to keep my uncle safe.”

“That’s a lot of weight,” Tony replies instead. “My issue is not between life and death.” 

"It doesn't have to be," Peter answers. 

"But...just to make sure...I really need to know that it's not you, but...."

Tony raises an eyebrow. 

There's a question mark over his head when Peter hesitates to complete his reply. 

He quickly sees why when the message comes in. 

"I think I'm being followed," Peter tells him. "That wouldn't happen to be you, would it?"

Tony's eyes are wide. Then he begins to blink rapidly, typing fast, before he forces himself to calm down. 

"You're being followed?" Tony asks. 

"Yeah," Peter says. 

"I'm thinking of calling the police," he says after a few seconds.

Tony's thoughts are racing at one hundred miles per hour. There's no way that Peter had a chance of knowing Clint or Natasha were following him. They were the best in the business. Even Tony had trouble finding Clint in the same room if he didn’t want to be found. 

There's no chance that this high school kid with the IQ of a genius would be able to figure this out on his own. 

There's no way. 

Plus, Tony really hopes that Peter wouldn't include the police. That would really complicate things for him. 

"Maybe you're imagining it?" Tony asks, hoping to dissuade him. 

"I have an eye for these things," Peter shoots back in return. 

Tony has a really hard time imagining that, especially after seeing the kid run across the street three seconds after the walking light had gone red. 

"I have an eye for things that matter, anyway," Peter said, as if he'd just thought about the same thing in his head. 

Tony doesn't have too much time to think about it before there is a knock on his door and Pepper Potts walks in, wearing her pencil gray skirt and her matching black, leather jacket with her white, frilly blouse. 

Pepper squints her eyes at him and looks around for the light switch. 

"You need to turn on the lights. Stop being a creepy old man," she says when she doesn't find them. 

"I'm not creepy," Tony bites back. "Or old, so quit it.'

"Wow," Pepper says, stopping midstep. "That was really mature."

She walks a few steps closer before pausing, tilting her head to look at him and smirking. "And is that denial I'm hearing?"

Tony grunts in annoyance and places his phone beside him. 

"It looks like that thing is stuck to you like a limb now," Pepper says, eyeing the gadget with curious eyes. She stands idly in front of his desk, and she looks back at him with that same light in her eyes. 

Tony notices her gaze and frowns at her, pocketing it instead. It vibrates in his pocket and he tries not to look too guilty. 

"Why are you here, again?" Tony asks, annoyed. 

Pepper raises her two blond eyebrows. 

"You've got to curb the rudeness," she teases. "There's nothing wrong with coming to visit my friend and my boss."

"You're like my mother," Tony shoots back. "There's no such thing for you as trivial friendly visits."

"Well, you've got that right," Pepper says, and she extends the file in her hands towards him. 

Tony eyes it suspiciously. 

"You know that I don't like to be handed things," he says, looking back up to her. Pepper squints her eyes at him, and Tony figures that it’s because she's trying really hard not to roll his eyes at him. 

Pepper decides to open the folder and slide it over to him from where she stands. 

Tony looks down at the pictures. His eye twitches, but, other than that, his expression is blank, lips set in a straight, firm line. 

"The Russians know," Pepper tells him. All semblances of a smile are gone from her face. 

"How did you get these?" Tony asks her. He looks back up to meet her eyes. "I thought there was a clean-up."

"I did some digging," Pepper informs, standing straight, shoulders extended back as she moves her hands to her hips. "Our spy got these for us. However, it looks like we've got a spy of our own in our ranks."

"I'm pretty sure that these weren't needed," Tony says, deciding to close the folder and slide it back to her. "They would have figured it was me anyway. By process of elimination."

"These were taken to incense," Pepper tells him, the line of her lips grim. "And I am 100% sure that it worked."

X

"Text me back when you actually want to talk," waits for him when Tony gets ready to go to sleep. Tony groans and runs his fingers through his wet hair. 

"Is this about this afternoon?" he asks. 

Peter takes a while, but he eventually replies with, "You know it is."

"I thought we had moved on from that conversation?" Tony asks curiously.

"We had," Peter responds. "But then I remembered again, and it got me irritated."

"Plus," he continues just a few seconds later. "You avoided it like you always do, so it flew over my head."

Tony shakes his head slightly, and he's smiling, unable to help himself. 

"I'll tell you eventually," Tony tells him. "Once I've got myself together. You can give me time for that, right?"

Peter sends him three angry devil emojis in a line. 

But then a "Yes."

"I'd like to meet you," Peter tells him afterwards. "Eventually."

Tony sits on his bed, white, furry robe sticking close to his skin and his slippers creamy white on his feet. 

"I'm sure we'll make it happen," Tony types back, smile fond. "Eventually."

"Are you really that old?" Peter asks him, and Tony pauses. 

"Why do you ask?" Tony types back. 

"I'm not that young," Peter tells him, and the comment is so innocent that it looks suspicious. Tony looks at it and ruminates, running it through his neurons over and over. Each time he does, it tastes different. 

Is Peter flirting?

With a man over twice his age?

"You're pretty young," Tony sends instead. 

Does that sound okay?

"I'm graduating soon," Peter says. "I'll be 18 in June."

Was this--?

This was definitely that, right?

"That's pretty cool," Tony sends, face red. He'd never, ever reacted like this to anything before. How uncool and uninterested could someone sound?

"You should come," Peter tells him, and Tony's neck has gone splotchy red. 

"To the graduation ceremony, I mean," Peter says. "It'd be nice to introduce you to my aunt and uncle."

"I would love to go," Tony says. And even though he's beating himself up mentally about it already, he's decided. He'll meet Peter then. 

"Okay, Tony," Peter tells him, and he sends him a winky face. "Go to sleep now."

"Before you go," Tony sends. "Fact of the night?"

Peter sends him an emoji rolling his eyes but he answers regardless. 

"Luna moths are mouthless," Peter sends. 

Tony screws his face, shaking his head. 

"What the heck even are luna moths??" he sends. 

Peter sends him a smiley face. 

Tony rolls his eyes, unable to help the unwilling fondness in his chest.

"Good night, Peter," Tony tells him, shaking his head. 

He sleeps with his phone on the bed. 

X

Tony can't stop smiling. His feet are light, and he's quick on his feet. 

Even Happy, who'd become wary of asking him too many personal questions, asks him why he's so smiley. When he's with Happy, his hands are occupied with texting. It's when he's scrolling back to the texts from the day prior that he's suddenly grounded again, remembering that there was something that he still had to ask Clint. 

On his way to the company, Tony Stark gets a call from Clint. 

It's after the debrief that Tony asks the question that he was curious about. 

"Clint," Tony brings up once he's done. "It looks like Peter might have an inkling that you guys are following him."

"That's impossible," Clint tells him. Tony can hear the frown on his face even from where he is. 

"Could maybe one of the occasions where you intercepted been discovered?" Tony asks him. Tony knows that Clint and Natasha are the best in the business, but even he's skeptical. 

"Could the kid know that it is you following him around?" Tony repeats. 

"That's impossible, sir," Clint tells him. He pauses, "But I have been wanting to let you know... I wanted to make sure, so that's why I didn't do it sooner, but these past few days we've noticed suspicious activity around Peter."

"What type of suspicious activity?" Tony asks, leaning forward in his seat. 

"Natasha has been looking into it," Clint says, "because we wanted to give you accurate information. However, it has been looking more and more like it's under Komolin."

Tony swears under his breath, eyes wide as he runs his hand through his hair. He is almost immediately perspiring underneath his suit. 

"How the fuck do the Russians know about Peter?" Tony asks, tightening his hand into a fist and pounding it with restraint on the leather seat right beside him. 

"We believe that it might be someone that heard that you have a new interest," Tony hears him say. 

Tony removes his black sunglasses to rub at his eyes. 

He swears again, his hand still a fist beside him. 

"Natasha," Clint tells him a few seconds later, "has something that she wants to tell you. It looks like she has some new information."

"Pass her over," Tony orders. 

"Mr. Stark," Natasha answers. "We have found out that they wanted to know why you extracted me and Clint out of Russia and into the United States. My resource has let me know that they were curious as to why Peter is the one you are having followed instead of having us guard you."

"Fuck," Tony says again. He unclenches his fist. 

"Pepper told me that shit would happen, but I didn't know that it would be this type of shit," Tony says. He sighs. It’s a sigh that comes from deep within his chest. Happy looks at him worringly from where he drives. 

"Would you like us to withdraw, sir?" Natasha asks, all business. 

"No," Tony responds. Even the thought of it is sacrilegious. How could he ever leave Peter vulnerable like that after being the cause of the problem?

"We might be more beneficial by your side, sir," Natasha tells him. She allows some worry to seep in through her voice.

"At this point just keep Peter safe," Tony orders. "I'll feel more clear-headed if I know that there's someone that I trust keeping an eye on him."

"Alright," Natasha tells him. 

They both hang up after short farewells. 

"You're looking a little chirpy," Rhodey notes sarcastically when he finds him in his living room. Tony holds a glass of wine in his hands, and, as he sees Rhodey come in, he takes a sip. 

"There's not a lot to be feeling chirpy about," Tony tells him instead, reaching forward to place the glass on the wooden surface of his center table. 

Rhodey raises an eyebrow and smiles. He points to the cellphone that Tony had placed across from him, beside the glass. 

"Not even your boyfriend can make yourself feel better?" Rhodey asks him, and Tony shakes his head, closing his eyes and resting his head on the sofa. 

"Would you like to talk about it?" Rhodey asks, noticing Tony's unusual silence. He takes a seat beside him. 

"Talking is not something that I do," Tony tells him. He opens his eyes to turn towards him. "You've known me for years. You should already know that."

"Talking is all that you do," Rhodey teases. 

Tony rolls his eyes, leaning his head back again and closing his eyes. 

"You know what I mean," Tony says, his tiredness seeping in through his voice.

"Yeah," Rhodey says. "I do, unfortunately."

Tony gives a noncommittal hum under his breath. 

"You've got a good thing going with this kid, Tony," Rhodey finally tells him. Tony opens his eyes and stares unblinkingly at the ceiling. "If that's what this is about."

Tony opens his mouth, but no words come out. 

"He makes you happy, and I've seen it," Rhodey says, his eyes fixed on Tony's profile. He rolls his eyes and smiles. "Pepper has seen it, too, if all her complaining has me following in the right direction."

Tony scrunches his eyebrows, turning to look at Rhodey. 

"You mean that Pepper has some more complaining to do about me?" Tony asks, smiling. "That's new stuff."

Rhodey laughs. 

"She loves to complain about how much you've been smiling and how it's been creeping her out," Rhodey explains and Tony raises his eyebrows. 

"How crass of her," Tony says, grabbing his glass of wine again to take a large gulp from it. 

"You're telling me," Rhodey says, chuckling softly. "I've been the one having to hear all of it."

They're both interrupted from their reverie when one of Tony's employees bursts in, face red and hair disheveled. 

"Mr. Stark," the employee gasps, out of breath, "we've been infiltrated."

Tony immediately straightens, placing down his glass of wine. Rhodey, too, is immediately on alert and he looks to Tony for orders.

"Where are they?" Tony asks, and the employee immediately gives him the information she knows. 

"Fuck," Tony curses under his breath when he sees them on the cameras. 

"Fuck," Tony repeats for good measure when he sees the Russian leader right at the forefront. 

"You unlucky bastard," Rhodey sighs beside him. "You better not be the reason I get killed tonight."

X

"You're lucky I was there to save your ugly ass," Pepper tells him. 

"Shut the fuck up," Tony says with no fervor. He's exhausted, he has a black eye, he has various cuts on his arms and on his face, and he got stabbed in the gut. 

It could definitely be worse. 

But he's alive. 

They're still waiting to hear what is happening to Rhodey. 

Tony lays on a hospital bed, an IV drip stuck to his arm, and the lights overhead acting like headlights that are hurting his eyes. He can just barely keep them open. 

He wouldn't be able to describe in detail how he'd felt when he'd seen Pepper storm in through the doors, in her slacks and black jacket, carrying her pistol and her large entourage behind her with their weapons. 

The fight had quickly fizzled out after that, but not before Komolin had his moment and stabbed him right in the stomach. 

Rhodey looked a lot worse for wear. Worse than Tony, and they'd waited for Bruce to arrive and assess the situation. Eventually, Bruce had them moved immediately over to his private hospital, where he'd had a few doctors waiting for orders. 

Tony had his emergency surgery. Rhodey was still getting his right now. 

He's been in there for hours already, and Tony has a lump stuck in his throat that he'd had to constantly smooth over by gulping almost incessantly. He's had to blink rapidly in succession to get rid of the wetness in his eyes. 

He did, genuinely, owe Pepper his life. 

The sentiments were begrudging, especially since Pepper loved to show him her ground and kick him off his pedestal almost constantly. 

Pepper sighs when she notices him looking out the window. 

"Tony," she starts, pausing for just a moment to clear her throat. Tony doesn't look away from the night outside. He holds his phone in his hands.

He'd stumbled upon it on his way out, as the stretchers had been adjusted and prepared for him and some of the other injured. The screen was broken, and his home screen only worked if he pressed on it long enough. 

He'd been unable to part from it after the fight. 

There's a nagging on his fingertips to text Peter. 

There’s an even more inexplicable urge to call him, to tell him what happened and who he is. And, even as Tony had come out of the surgery, Rhodey on his mind, he’d held on to his phone like a life-line. The shards of the screen scratched at the sensitive skin on his bruised hands. 

How could he ever choose to bring Peter into this world when he couldn't even defend himself?

"Do you know why this happened?" Pepper asks him, her hands wrapped around the bars at the end of the bed. 

Tony wrinkles his nose, but he can't find it in him to roll his eyes. The weight of all of this is still heavy over his shoulders, and there's still the possibility that Rhodey will not survive the night. 

"Because I wouldn't listen to you?" Tony replies, looking back to Pepper and tightening his hold minimally on the phone resting to his side. He shifts his legs just slightly under the white bed sheets and grimaces when that pulls at the newly-made stitches on his lower abdomen. 

"No," Pepper says straightening up her shoulders. "Try again."

"Because I killed a Russian?" Tony asks, tired of her little game. 

"No," Pepper replies, and her lips are set in a straight line. "This happened," Pepper continues, "because you couldn't allow yourself the help of others. You didn't want anyone to help you because you thought that you could do it all on your own. Keep even your friends out of your life before things got deeper than they had to be."

"Is this about Clint?" Tony asks. 

Pepper shakes her head, her fist rising as she decides to relax it and run her fingers through her hair. She's irritated. She closes her eyes. Her teeth clench hard and Tony hears the sharp sound from where he lays. 

"It's about everything, Tony," Pepper sighs. She opens her eyes to glare at him through blonde, long lashes. 

She's clearly forcing herself to remain calm, breathing in through her nose and puffing out breaths through her mouth. 

"It's about Clint, it's about that kid you've been hiding from us, it's about your arrogance in not doing anything to prepare as information came to you."

Tony waits silently for her to finish. 

"You need to allow yourself to be vulnerable, Tony," Pepper says. "Otherwise you'll end up losing everyone around you."

Tony's whole body aches. He sits up, and he grimaces, holding his right hand to his chest. His busted lip burns. 

"Okay," Tony agrees softly. 

He thinks about Rhodey on the stretcher, his eyes open just slightly but unfocused. He’d held his hand over his chest, the other limp beside him. 

"Do you understand now, what I've been trying to tell you?" Pepper asks him. 

Tony is unable to look away from her firm gaze. 

"Yes," he says, voice cracking.

"Will you allow me to help you, Tony?" Pepper asks him. 

Tony nods once. He lays back down, his whole body limp.

"Good," she says. 

She eyes the phone that Tony holds in his hand, and Tony visibly moves it out of sight underneath the blankets. 

She sighs but she smiles, a soft thing that is resigned. 

"I'll let you keep some of your secrets then," she says. "Just as long as they don't get to your head."

With those words, she turns on her heels and walks out of the room. 

Tony turns on the almost-dead phone when he knows that she's gone. 

There's a few texts from Fury, which go unread. Tony opens his messaging app and finds Peter almost immediately. 

There's quite a few texts from Peter that have gone unread. Tony hasn't tried to contact him ever since he'd found out the Russians had been tailing him. 

Tony scrolls back to where he'd left off and grimaces when he notices the time sent. 

He reads all of the messages, and, by the time he reaches the last one, his head is pounding with lack of sleep and the aftereffects of adrenaline. 

"Where are you?" Peter had sent. 

"Are you alright?" was the last one. 

Tony types his response slowly, his fingers slow, heavy. 

"I'm okay," Tony types back. 

It's three in the morning, but Peter types back almost immediately. 

"What took you so long to answer??" Peter asks. "I was worried."

"I was in an accident," Tony sends back slowly. He rests his head on the pillow, his body aching from the lack of too much movement. 

"What are you doing awake so late?" Tony asks, noticing Peter's gray bubble pop in and out. 

"I couldn't sleep," Peter says. "And you were in an accident?? What happened?"

"I got mugged," Tony said.

"Being in an accident and getting mugged are two very different things, Tony," Peter snarks back. 

Tony rubs a hand over his tired eyes. 

"They're the same thing where I'm from," he responds in turn. 

"You're such an asshole," Peter sends. 

"But I hope you're okay," he sends right after. 

"I'll be fine," Tony replies. 

In that moment, he considers telling him everything. Telling Peter that he's still waiting to hear on the status of his friend's recovery. Telling him that his house is so trashed that it'll be unlivable for who knows how long. Telling him that he's still worried about Peter's safety. Telling him that he's unsure if even his location at the moment is safe.

Just because he killed Komolin doesn’t mean that the Russians were gone. 

Those specific Russians anyway. 

"Will you really?" Peter asks as if he can read his mind. 

"I will be," Tony answers in turn. "If you stay with me," Tony says, "I really will be."

As soon as he says those words, he knows that he means them. How did he live before he met Peter?

It's a blur to try to remember. 

Sitting there, on a hospital bed, he realizes something. 

Tony's aching and yearning surpasses what he'd originally thought it was. It's deeper than that. 

And, as Tony looks down to Peter's next text, he realizes why. 

"Tony," Peter sends. "I like someone."

"I think I might love them, actually," he sends just a few seconds later. 

Tony Stark, notorious mob boss and now a defeated man, looks down at Peter's text with the full urge to burst screaming until his throat is raw. 

But he doesn't. 

He doesn't allow himself the possibility to think, either. 

So he makes a choice. 

He travels into Peter's contact settings and blocks Peter's number. 

X

Life is, in fact, different without Peter. 

It comes in the smallest things. Things that he'd taken for granted before he'd been allowed a glimpse of beauty. 

Tony doesn't wake up with the same jump in his step. He rarely smiles.

He doesn’t notice these things himself. These are noticed by others. 

His awareness comes in how he feels. When he’s doing certain things, there is less of a yearning to have it completed. 

However, one of the most notable differences that follows Tony around comes in the form of two very tall men. One tall, with blonde hair and brown eyes, firm set jaw, and the other with scraggly long hair and a prosthetic metal arm. 

They'd both been in the military, and they came with really high recommendations. 

"Those are new," Rhodey eyes with interest when Tony comes to visit him. Tony spares his two new bodyguards a glance. They stand near the door, on both sides of it, arms crossed over their chests. Their build contrasts against the small Santas decorating the table beside Rhodey.

"Look at you," Rhodey says, almost as if he doesn't believe it. "With your own bodyguards."

"They are required," Tony says wanly. He allows a faint smile to cross his features. "I figured that I got spanked on the ass too hard to ignore a hard-set lesson."

"This is Steve," Tony says, pointing to the blonde man, "And this is Bucky." He points to the man with the long, brown hair. 

The men nod to Rhodey as he says their names. 

As Tony stands besides Rhodey's hospital bed, looking down on him, he recalls that night at the hospital, Pepper at the foot of the bed and him laying painfully on his back. 

Tony presses his lips together and looks away. 

Rhodey tilts his head to look at him. 

"What is it, Tony?" Rhodey asks. 

The words come right from the middle of Tony's chest, and he looks back at Rhodey. 

"I'm sorry," Tony says. "I was being too selfish with everything. I should've allowed you to help me."

Rhodey smiles. 

"It's okay, man," Rhodey tells him. "I'm healthy, albeit not entirely whole," Rhodey laughs. Tony forces a laugh, which quickly fades, and he looks away again. 

"Where are Clint and Natasha?" Rhodey asks instead. 

"I left them with Peter," Tony says. 

"I'll leave them there until I know that there is no longer an imminent threat," Tony continues. He's aware of the very knowing look in Rhodey's eyes. 

"I'm not talking to Peter anymore," Tony clarifies when he knows that he can't avoid those eyes anymore. 

"You deserve to be happy, Tony," Rhodey says. Tony straightens up awkwardly, his lips parted as if he's about to speak. Rhodey doesn't let him. 

"And Peter makes you happy," Rhodey notes. 

Tony closes his eyes, pressing his hand to his temple slightly as he steps back to sit down on the chair beside Rhodey's bed. 

"I'm leaving," Tony finally admits, opening his eyes to look at Rhodey. Rhodey doesn't say anything, large, brown eyes staring into Tony's soul. "I'm not coming back."

"Where are you going?" Rhodey asks. 

"Spain. Italy. I don't know," Tony says. He sighs. "Just somewhere really far."

"When are you planning to leave?" Rhodey asks softly.

"Today," Tony says, just as soft. Rhodey’s eyes widen in surprise.

"Can you tell me why?" Rhodey asks. 

Tony closes his eyes one more time. He sees Peter behind his eyelids. Peter laughing with his friends, Peter walking home, short, wavy hair bouncing just slightly. He sees Peter's words. His jokes. His little fond euphemisms. 

Tony will leave. 

He'll leave. He'll move out of the country to not have the temptation to go see him or, worse, to go meet him. 

"Because I think it's the right thing," Tony finally says, tone resigned. 

Peter has a whole life ahead of him. 

Besides, who is he kidding?

Peter is a high school kid. He isn’t interested in a man half his age to begin with. The first time he'd even talked to him, the young boy had been attempting to hit up a girl. Tony wonders if all is going well between them, and if he'd just been accidentally strewn along by a naive boy too young to understand what words meant. 

"Let me know how things work for you," Rhodey says. He smiles at him. 

Tony smiles back. 

"Thank you, Rhodey," he says. 

Tony heads home not long afterwards. He has Happy drop him off in front of his penthouse. He looks through his closet and starts marking down the clothes that he wants to take with him. He tells his maid to get those together soon after, planning to wrap things up in his office, planning to have everything finished up by the time she's finished packing. 

By the time he's sitting in his office chair, his phone is going off. 

He reads Clint's code name on the screen, and he's quickly answering, his heart spiking. 

The last time he'd told Clint to contact him, he'd told him to only do so if Peter was in danger. 

"Boss," the man said, breathing hard through the phone, as if he had been running. "We have a problem."

Tony is already ram-rod straight in his seat, his left hand clasping the arm of his chair in a tight fist. 

"What is it?" Tony demands, urging in his intent for a rapid reply. "Is Peter safe?"

"That's the thing," Clint says. He pauses for a moment. "He's sitting on the edge of---- bridge, and he says that if you don't come and find him, he's going to jump off."

"What?" Tony asks, disbelieving. 

Clint tells him again, slowly, but Tony is interrupting him. 

"Fuck, fuck," Tony says. "Give the damn phone to Peter."

Tony hears muffled voices on the other side of the line, one patient and the other not so much.

"He says that he doesn't want to talk to you," Clint tells him, back on the line only a few seconds later. "He says that you have to meet him or he's not talking to you."

"Goddamnit, Clint," Tony growls, rubbing his thumb and his index finger in a circular motion between his eyes, on the bridge of his nose. 

"Stay on the goddamn line," Tony orders. He's quickly grabbing his jacket and running down the stairs. 

He finds Happy in the kitchen taking a bite of a sweet bun and he's rapidly calling out to him. 

"Change of plans, Hap," Tony informs. "Get the car ready."

Tony Stark sits on the back seat of his sports car about two minutes later, just a few minutes past 2:45 PM with a confused Happy sitting on the driver's seat. Tony's bodyguards sit beside him. 

"Are we heading to the airport slightly earlier, sir?" Happy asks him. 

"No, Hap," Tony remarks. " We're going to go save the love of my life."

On the other side of the line, Clint sighs very audibly. 

"Step on it, Happy," Tony orders. 

Happy very happily does, the light sound of Christmas jingles coming from the radio.

There is a small crowd building up by the time Tony gets there. Tony distinguishes the glint of Natasha's red hair. Just to the side, he sees Clint, hands on his hips as he holds his phone to his ear. Just beyond the crowd, sitting calmly over the ledge of the bridge, Tony sees brown hair and a pale face. Pink lips and pink, wind-swept cheeks. His heart skips once, a beat so hard that he feels the aftereffects of it in the pit of his stomach. His hand trembles slightly even though his voice doesn't show it. 

"Damn it, Clint," Tony curses into the phone. "I don't know how you're going to do it, but I need you to disperse the crowd."

Clint rolls his eyes, immediately spotting his car, but he's working on it quickly, starting to wave people away with the excuse that they're recording a film. Tony hangs up the phone once he sees that he's succeeded. 

"Sir, where do you want me to park?" Happy asks. 

"Take me to the sidewalk," Tony says. "I can walk from there. Thank you, Happy."

"Yes, sir," Happy says. Bucky opens the door as soon as Happy stops. Beeps shout behind them, but Tony ignores them, walking out of the car and into the sidewalk, Steve following right behind. 

Happy quickly gets back on the road as soon as they've shut the door. 

Tony just has eyes for the boy sitting on the bridge. 

Peter's brown eyes quickly catch sight of him, going wide. 

Natasha steps back when she sees Tony approaching. Tony is just a few steps away, and he stops, not wanting to scare him off. 

"You're such an asshole, Tony Stark," is the first thing that Peter tells him. But he's seeing Peter eating up the sight of him, and he's doing the same, his eyes fixated on those brown eyes, his windswept hair, and his thin, pink lips. 

"How did you know that it was me?" Tony asks him. He has the urge to put his hands in his pockets like a sweaty teenager. He calms himself by taking out his black gloves from the inside of his jacket and placing them over his cold hands. 

"There is only one man in the whole of New York, and probably the country," Peter starts, "that is called Tony and that can set some really good people to spy on you 24/7."

"Not that good if you were able to find them," Tony states wanly. 

"There are only so many times you can get yourself in trouble and not have repercussions until you know that there's something fishy going on," Peter says, smiling mischievously. "I've gotta say that I loved to test them after I found out."

Tony can't help but to laugh. He walks forward just slightly, gaining the confidence to step a little closer. 

"Plus," Peter says, that fond smile still on his lips, "Do you think I could ever forget the name or face of the man that saved my uncle?"

Tony's smile dims a little, but there's a rising hope in his chest. He can't look away from Peter, no matter how much he tries. 

"I've done my research," Peter says, raising his chin and looking down at him through his long lashes. "Did you think I would forget?"

"I don't want you to remember me like that," Tony says, voice soft. "I don't want to tarnish your already pure world."

"My life was already tarnished by the time my uncle pushed me away to be snatched by a man holding a knife to his neck," Peter answers. He also can't seem to look away from Tony, and he wiggles a little where he sits, watching as Tony steps forward in worry. Peter smiles, looking at him with really mischievous, knowing eyes. 

"Has anybody ever told you that you're really reckless?" Tony asks, righteously indignant. He's very awake to Peter's manipulations, but he can't seem to find it in himself to get angry. 

"Has anybody ever told you that you confuse people?" Peter asks, smile fading slightly.

Tony raises both eyebrows, and Peter rolls his eyes. 

"How could you just cut me off like that, Tony?" Peter asks, and his voice breaks a little. 

Tony opens his mouth to talk, but Peter beats him to it. 

"One moment you make it seem like you like me and the other you make it seem like you don't."

"I just want to keep you safe," Tony says. He looks at Peter's hands. They are curled over the ledge. 

"And I don't think that I can keep on being just your friend," Tony admits. He looks back up. His heart is pouring through his lips. "I love you, Peter. I love you so much that even the idea of you liking anybody else drives me crazy."

Tony removes his gloves and puts them back in his pocket. 

Peter's eyes are wide, and he's sniffling from the cold, cheeks pink. 

"Tony," he gasps as Tony walks forward to fill the steps between them, his large hands grabbing hold of the outside of Peter's thighs. 

Peter's blue, faded jeans are smooth underneath his fingertips. 

Tony's eyes search Peter's. He attempts to find any distaste towards his touch, but he finds none. Only pink cheeks and trembling lips. 

"You're the one that I like," Peter says, cheeks red. "I like you so much that I don't know what to do with myself."

And Tony is smiling in return. So bright and beautiful on his own with his dark, thick lashes and his dark hair. His damn goatee and his large hands. Peter takes a deep, shaky breath. 

Tony raises his index finger and bops the top of Peter's nose. Peter blinks, shutting his eyes tight before opening them again and looking into Tony's. 

And Tony's hands are cupping Peter's face and kissing him, tasting his wet lips and stealing his breath. 

Peter is breathing hard by the end of it, his hands raising up to cover Tony's hands with his own. 

A few cars beep at them as they pass by. 

The only thing that keeps him from falling backwards is Tony's hold on him. 

"Are you going to get off that bridge now?" Tony asks him, a smirk decorating his lips. 

"Well, my butt is starting to hurt," Peter admits, biting his bottom lip. His cheeks are still bright red. Both from the cold and from everything else. 

Tony looks up, and he's so happy. So happy that the sky is as blue and cloudy as the feeling pulling at his heart. 

"Did you know," Tony says, looking back down at Peter, his smile impossibly fond, "that a cloud can weigh more than one million pounds?"

"About 1.1 million pounds, actually," Peter answers. His smile is dazzling, and he's holding on tightly to Tony's fingers. "A single cloud," he ends. 

"But it can still float," Tony says in a low voice, reaching forward to peck Peter's cold lips again, "because the air below it is even heavier."

Peter smiles and takes one of his hands to caress Tony's cheeks. 

"Just in case you were wondering," Tony ends for good measure. Peter’s nose aches from the cold, and his butt hurts, too, but he can’t find it in him to be upset.

"Don't you know that that's not how flirting works?" Peter jokes, teasing. "I heard that from the best Casanova of the century."

"Who was that?" Tony asks, feigning ignorance. "Sounds like an intergluteal cleft to me."

Peter laughs and steps right into Tony's welcoming, open arms. 

X

Tony keeps clearing his throat every time the thought of Peter jumps into his head, enough that Happy is staring at him concernedly through the mirror. 

"Would you like some cough drops, sir?" Happy asks him. "I can pass by a gas station on our way to your penthouse."

"No, that will be fine, Happy. Thanks," Tony answers.

He's wearing one of his most expensive suits to date. Black slacks and a gold undershirt with a red jacket. 

"Can't you go a little faster, Happy?" Tony asks, adjusting his cufflinks. A gold ensemble that Peter had surprised him with. He'd saved up enough money for them that Tony now prized them more than a lot of things he owned. 

"I don't want to be late to Peter's college graduation, much less his party."

"We'll be fine, sir," Happy assures him. "We're less than five minutes away."

Tony's phone rings in his pocket, and he's quickly bringing it to his ear. 

"Hello, love," he says, having read the caller ID. 

"Hey, Tony," Peter says. "You're still on time, but I'd really like you to hurry up. Pepper keeps complaining about you, and I already feel like I know enough about you to last me a lifetime."

Tony chuckles, changing the phone to his other ear. He searches for his signature pen, and beside him, Steve hands it to him. Tony mouths a thank you, which Steve accepts with a smile. 

"You should spend an afternoon with Rhodey," Tony laughs. "Those two can go on for hours."

"I'm sure they can," Peter teases. 

"How are you feeling?" Tony asks, and he hears Peter chuckle. 

"Good! I promise. I can't wait to see you."

"Me, too, sweetheart," Tony says, smiling. "Any big facts before your big day?" He asks curiously. 

Peter hums, and Tony hears someone calling him in the background. Peter answers that he'll be there in a moment. 

"I've got one for you," Tony interrupts, waiting for him to clock back in. "Do you know that my love for you surpasses the weight of one cloud? It's just as floaty, too."

On the other side of the line, Peter wrinkles his nose, but he's smiling. His smile is so brilliant that it's almost blinding. 

"That was too cheesy," he says. "But I love you, too."

"Okay, baby, I love you," Tony replies. He pauses. 

"I'll see in a moment, then," he says. "We still have that date night right after, so don't forget that suit I gave you."

Tony can almost hear Peter rolling his eyes on the other side of the line, but he's laughing and saying okay. He'll be ready. 

The ring in Tony's slacks feels really light. 


End file.
